Beneath the Cloisters
by Bronze Cat
Summary: "There's the tree that never grew, there's the bird that never flew, there's the fish that never swam, there's the bell that never rang. Lord, let Anvard Flourish by the Preaching of the Word." For here is a place as sacred as the Stone Table or the High Temple of Tashbaan. Here is a haven against the Unknown. Here is the University of Anvard.
1. Chapter 1

_To my Royal Siblings: their Majesties, High King Peter, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy,_

 _I arrived in Anvard the night before last and have spent my first few days here gaining my bearings. King Lune has been most accommodating to not only myself but the servants and friends who have accompanied me here, although I will admit that the young Prince Corin is a tad too eager to make himself of use to me._

 _A noble of Lune's court, a young man by the name of Peridan Bosworth, has offered to act as my guide during my time here and on the morrow he will show me to the city's university. I've been told that the library there holds more books than the rest of the city combined and I hope amongst that wealth of knowledge will be the answers we seek._

 _I will write again soon,_

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _King Edmund, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, and Knight of the Order of the Table_

* * *

The University of Anvard was undoubtedly the jewel of Archenland.

It had been founded almost exactly a century after King Col placed the first stone of the city's foundations; thus making it the oldest such institution in the world. Over the next few centuries sister organisations would flourish in Tashbaan and Redhaven but they would never come close to the scholarly might of Anvard.

The site itself was between the Palace and the Grand Market. Built from the same distinctive red-brown sandstone as the other buildings of the city, it was a twisting maze of towers, cloisters, and classrooms that disorientated even those scholars who had served their entire lives under its roofs if they were not careful. It also housed one of the greatest depositories of knowledge in the world in the form of the Feldian Collection.

Lord Ansel Feld had been the eccentric and unmarried heir of one of the richest families in the country. While his sister had risen to the hazy heights of Queen of Archenland, he had devoted his life to the pursuit of the Unknown and had amassed a great collection of books and trinkets. In his will he bequeathed everything, both his fortune and his possessions, to the institution that had started him upon his quest.

The vast majority of his possessions were now housed in several halls in the university's East Wing, famously known as the Feldian Museum, whereas his many books and papers had become the foundation of the university's library. Twice as large as the Museum and growing with every new book and pamphlet published, it formed a haven for its students for generations.

And on one fine day in high summer, the Rector of the University – who had spent some forty years within its walls – was hopelessly lost.

"Ada?!" he shouted again.

" _Ada, Ada, Ada?!"_ the echo replied.

He straightened his official robes and sniffed irritably. "I am your Lord and Master," he informed the ceiling. "I do not appreciate being mocked in this fashion."

He turned a corner and headed towards Calormene Poetry.

"Blasted girl, where is she," he muttered. "Ada?! _Ada?!"_

"This is a library, Uncle, you shouldn't shout," a gentle voice said from his right.

Ada watched him patiently as he jumped a foot in the air and dramatically clutched his heart. She was well-versed in his theatrics and knew he would get to the point in his own time.

"By every hair in the Lion's Mane, Adelaide, don't sneak up on me like that!" he wheezed.

"Sorry, Uncle," she said. "Why are you searching for me?"

"Dame Vance said you would be with the Sevenese Theology," he said crossly. "How did you end up here?!"

"She asked Isaiah to go there this morning; the Jarl of Muil requested something about their Old Gods and Isaiah knows those books like the back of his hand," she replied.

"Isaiah… Ada… I knew her hearing was beginning to go," her uncle grumbled. Suddenly he blanched and yanked his pocket watch from inside his robes.

"Oh Aslan save us, quick, girl, quick, we should have been there thirty minutes ago!" he yelped.

Ada barely had time to set down the scrolls in her arms before her uncle had grabbed her arm and dragged her halfway up the wrong corridor.

"Where are we going?" she asked, steering him towards the Library's Grand Staircase.

"To the Palace, of course, didn't I say? We have an audience with the King!"

* * *

Ada had been to the Palace a few times in her lifetime. In her position as Fourth Assistant to the Librarian she was the youngest and most junior of the main Library Staff so she should have had very little contact with royalty. However, being the orphaned niece of the Rector of the University did occasionally have its merits.

"You are forty-five minutes late," the doorward sneered as they finally arrived outside the King's Audience Chamber.

"We were unavoidably detained," her uncle huffed, straightening his robes and detangling the chain around his neck. "I am a busy man and Adelaide has more to do than just stand around waiting for people all day."

The doorward's eyes narrowed but he turned and entered the Chamber.

"Sir Titus Speight, Rector of the University of Anvard, and Miss Adelaide Speight, Fourth Assistant to Dame Vance, Librarian of the University," he announced.

Ada watched her uncle square his shoulders, fix his "official" smile on his face, and march forward. She quickly smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and then followed him.

"Titus! Got lost in your own halls again?" King Lune joked as they approached. Ada bit the inside of her cheek as her uncle's smile became a little more forced.

"Oh, never, you know how the Bursar likes to waffle on," the Rector said through gritted teeth.

The Bursar was a skeletal old man who prowled the halls of the University like an aged shadow. Ada was yet to hear him utter a single word; conversations between him and other members of the university staff resulted in them managing to reach a conclusion with the other person doing all the talking and the Bursar staring at them blankly.

She wondered if King Lune knew this; the Bursar did somehow have a reputation as a skilled conversationalist.

Lune nodded. "Dear Tervis, I still chuckle to think of that excellent joke he told about the Telmarine Merchant Lord, the snake charmer, and the hippopotamus," he said with a smile. "Peridan, were you there? It was at the Yuletide Feast last year?"

Ada's heart sunk. She had first encountered Lord Peridan Bosworth when he had been in his final year of study and she had been in her first year of employment. Sensing she was new, he had repeatedly asked her to complete tasks which were either far too menial or far too difficult for her. He still occasionally ventured into the Library to annoy her further and she had the sneaking suspicion that he had something to do with why she was here now.

He was standing beside a young man she didn't recognise. Strange, for although she did not personally know everyone at court she did know everyone by sight. He was noble, she could tell, and his dark eyes watched them carefully. He was dressed in a dark green doublet and brown hose that while finely made were clearly not of Archenlander make. He was probably from one of the Islands.

"To the matter at hand!" Lune boomed, dragging her attention back to him. "You were probably wondering why I have pulled you from the university halls?"

"I am always happy to visit the Palace," her uncle replied evenly.

"Spoken like a true politician; all you scholars are wasted devoting your lives to your books," Lune muttered. "We have a visitor to Anvard, Sir Titus. May I present King Edmund of Narnia."

He stretched out a hand and indicated the dark-haired young man beside Peridan.

"Your Majesty," the Rector said, bowing. Ada hurriedly curtsied behind him.

Narnia had only recently been freed from the wrath of a terrible sorceress. Ada had heard rumours that it had been four children who had overthrown the Witch with the might of Aslan Himself at their backs. As fantastical as it sounded, Lune had journeyed to Narnia since its Thaw and all of Archenland had become awash with rumour when he returned.

"I have visited Archenland with a single purpose, Sir Titus," King Edmund said now. "My Royal Siblings and I have encountered a problem which we lack the instruments to overcome on our own. We have been informed by many that the University of Anvard has the greatest library in the world and we hope to find answers within its walls."

"I'm sure we do," the Rector said with another bow. "Now I understand your request to bring a member of the Library's staff with me today. This is my niece, Adelaide Speight. She is Fourth Assistant to the Librarian."

King Edmund turned his gaze to Ada now. She did not appreciate the scrutiny. A common theme of her annual appraisals was her tendency to talk back to those who treated her with little heed or like a servant. Dame Vance had until now let her get away with her snappish remarks since it had only been to minor nobles at worst but she could only picture the Librarian's face upon hearing that her assistant had insulted royalty.

"You seem very young to be in such a position, Miss Speight," the Narnian King said.

Ada bit the inside of her cheek again, this time to prevent one of her famous retorts, and cast her gaze over him. How he could call her young for being a mere librarian when he was an adolescent in charge of an entire country, she did not know.

"With respect, sire, I may not have the age or experience of my colleagues but I have the same foundation of knowledge as them and I know the halls of the university possibly even better," she said. "I began my apprenticeship at age sixteen and two years later I am a valued member of staff. Besides, Dame Vance is engaged in a pressing matter with the Royal Archives at present, Mr Dressler is preparing for the arrival of the Calormene party next week, Mr Bennett is engaged in a long-standing project with the Jarl of Muil, and Mr Reynell is currently away on business for the Duke of Galma. Unless you wish to petition one of them to take on your project or ask some of the clerks to help you, I'm the best option you have."

He regarded her with his head tipped to one side; his face impossible to read.

"We were hoping for Mr Bennett since we were told he has knowledge of the Narnian Dwarfish tongue," he said.

"I can read and write in the alphabet and language of the Narnian Sons of Earth, including the slight dialectical differences between Red and Black Dwarfs," she said, maybe slightly a little too irritably. "I also have some understanding of Terebinthian and Telmarine although my colleagues are more knowledgeable in those areas."

He smiled and inclined his head. "Forgive me, I meant no offence to your abilities. I'm sure you will be a great help with my tasks, Miss Speight."

"I'll bring King Edmund to the Library tomorrow morning," Peridan said with a grin. "I remember where everything is, I'm sure I'll be able to help too."

Ada tried to keep the smile on her face but she definitely felt it twinge. Enforced contact with Lord Peridan Bosworth again, she could not wait.

* * *

 **Hello and welcome to what I have jokingly been referring to as my "writer's holiday". And that is where the Virginia Woolf comparisons will swiftly end as _Orlando_ this most definitely is not.**

 **Those who have read my other fics will know that I am an avid world builder. I have so far turned my attentions to the Lone Islands, Telmar and the Seven Isles in my stories so now it is time for Archenland and Calormen to receive some love. In particular, you will see one of my head-canons I've been developing for quite some time and I am excited to show it!**

 **The University of Anvard is heavily inspired by the University of Glasgow. The image I used for the cover photo is actually the cloisters beneath Bute Hall in the University grounds. However, unlike Anvard which is the oldest in the Narnian world, GU is the 4th oldest university in the English-speaking world and where it places in the whole world I am unsure. :)**

 **The rhyme from the description which begins, " _There's the tree that never grew,"_ is a real rhyme associated with Glasgow and it refers to the four miracles of St Mungo, the patron saint of the city. I have adopted it and given it a rather different meaning here which will be revealed in later chapters.  
**

 **Lord Ansel Feld is based upon William Hunter who bequeathed his own possessions to the University of Glasgow upon his death and this formed what is now the Hunterian Museum. If you ever find yourself in Glasgow, I recommend you visit the University and the Museum; they are definitely worth it!**

 **I hope this has captured your interest. I am happy to answer questions if you have them so please leave me a review if you have one, or if you just have something to say! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Dearest Ed,_

 _Why so formal, brother mine? This is only communication between us four after all._

 _Hopefully the library at the university will have something. Tumnus has been going round everybody he could think of but nothing has been found. Even the documents we recovered from the Witch's house have failed to turn up anything. You can imagine how pleased Peter is by the whole situation._

 _Susan has agreed to begin teaching me archery and Oreius wants to remind you to keep up with your drills. Just because you are away on business does not mean you can slack off._

 _Finally, if you have a moment do you think you will be able to visit the Grand Market?_

 _I miss you, I hope you can get home soon._

 _Your loving sister,_

 _Lucy_

* * *

"Good morning, Adelaide," Dame Vance said.

"Good morning, Ma'am," Ada said as she slipped into the Librarian's Office. She was the first of the Assistants to arrive for the morning's meeting today. That unfortunately meant she had to run all the way across the University to the refectory for their first teapot of the day and by the time she had returned, the other Assistants were there.

"This is usually your job," she hissed playfully at Isaiah, the Third Assistant, as she walked past to pour Dame Vance a cup of tea.

He chose to lean back in his chair and grin innocently at her.

"Is Collin still away?" Dame Vance said as she flicked through her papers.

"Yes. He should be back next week, seas permitting," Hans, the First Assistant, informed her.

"Excellent. Let's begin," she said. "Isaiah, the Jarl no longer needs you to accompany him back to Muil. If you would ensure he has all he needs and then go back to cataloguing the new Terebinthian sonnets."

"Yes, Ma'am," Isaiah said, accepting the docket she offered.

"Adelaide, I believe your uncle took you to meet your new client yesterday?" Dame Vance continued, now turning to her only female assistant. Ada nodded.

"This is your first time dealing with a high-profile client on your own," her mistress warned her. "Narnia is not the power it once was but remember our nation would not exist without theirs. If King Edmund is satisfied with your conduct, then I will begin to give you some more demanding clients.

"Finally, a deputation of the Ta-er are visiting Anvard soon. Officially they are here because Prince Rabadash is considering an education with the University. Hans, I have already assigned you to care for any needs they have - I believe the High Priest needs a few records - but if they approach any of you with a problem you must drop your current task immediately in favour of theirs," she said grimly. "Prince Rabadash will have a much finer education here than in that biased little hovel in Tashbaan and I'll be damned if my staff are the reason why the Ta-er think the University unsuitable."

"Yes, Ma'am," her Assistants murmured.

The rest of the meeting passed with nothing else of note beyond their usual discussions. At its conclusion, Ada was dispatched to the University's Postmaster to collect the Librarian's mail for the day. The quickest route took her through the cloisters of the university. She tipped her head back, as she always did, and looked up at the arches above her. Her heart surged with love for her beloved home and she smiled.

"Lord, let Anvard flourish," she muttered to herself, her hand reaching out to trail across the sandstone columns she knew so well.

* * *

"I should warn you, the staff of the University are a little... Eccentric," Peridan said.

"Sir Titus and his niece seemed perfectly fine," Edmund said as they passed under the University's gatehouse.

"Sir Titus is a neurotic overthinker who sees twenty problems where one exists and little Miss Speight and I are still engaging in a trivial feud from my own days as a student here," Peridan replied. "But, um, they really aren't the worst. I suppose we'll meet someone interesting at some point; the Board tends to get a little overexcited by visiting royalty."

The Archenlander noble led the way through the confusing maze of cloisters until they reached the Library. Waiting inside the foyer were the Library staff; two women, one of whom was the girl they had met yesterday, and two men.

All four were dressed in the same clothes; trousers for the men and long skirts for the women in the national blue of Archenland, crisp white shirts, and grey waistcoats. What had to be the coat of arms of the university had been embroidered upon the breast-pocket of their waistcoats in silver for three of them and in gold for the elder of the two women. The keys on the ring at her hip were also gilded with gold, unlike those of the others, and so Edmund assumed her to be superior to the other three – something she soon affirmed.

"Your Majesty," she said, inclining her head. "I am Dame Dorothea Vance, Librarian of the University. These are my Assistants; Mr Dressler, Mr Bennett, and Miss Speight. Miss Speight will take care of you in these halls but don't hesitate to come to any of us with a problem."

"Thank you, Dame Vance," Edmund said. "I'm sure I will feel most at home here."

The Librarian's steely eyes flicked to over one of the King's shoulders and she suddenly took on the grave expression of someone about to go through a great trial.

"Oh, hello, Bursar," she said flatly. "My goodness, is it half nine already?"

Edmund turned and tried not jump back as he realised the Bursar was standing right behind him.

He was a tall, spindly man with a sallow complexion and an expression of eternal disappointment. He looked down at the young Narnian King fiercely and Edmund found himself magically transported back to his schooldays in Spare Oom, where he was certain the Bursar would have made an excellent schoolmaster at Hendon House.

"Yes, yes, this is King Edmund," Dame Vance said crossly. The Bursar moved his intense scrutiny to her and she sighed deeply.

"Quinten, I really haven't got the time. Have you finalised my budget for the next semester or not?" she asked.

Before he could respond, she had rolled her eyes and stormed off back towards her office. "Of course not, it was just too much to ask! I bet you have given Varrick his and in full too!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

The Bursar merely glided after her as silently as he had appeared, leaving the others behind in a stunned silence.

"Does he make anyone else uncomfortable?" Ada asked with a shudder.

"The University would be in chaos without him," Hans said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "He's amazingly shrewd and he has the most fantastic stories I've ever heard."

He turned back to Edmund and bowed his head.

"Please excuse us, sire, but the day is already slipping away from us," he said and he and Isaiah vanished into the depths of the library.

Ada was left alone for the first time with her new clients. Even here where she would be most comfortable, she was still apprehensive as to how things would progress. The Narnian King, however, broke the tension by smiling warmly at her.

"Miss Speight, I do hope you will be able to help me," he said.

"Oh, please call me Ada, sire," she said. "I only get called Miss Speight when everything is strict and formal and I cannot bear working like that."

He blinked and then laughed. "I will call you Ada if you will call me Edmund, then."

His young face suddenly turned grave and he looked around carefully as if he expected to see someone loitering in the shadows, eavesdropping.

"Is there somewhere private we can go while I explain my situation? I wish to be completely honest with you but by doing so I will be trusting you with a Narnian state-secret," he said. "You cannot breathe a word of what I tell you today to anybody; not even Dame Vance."

"Of course, sire," she said. "I mean Edmund. I mean… please, this way."

There was a little-used corridor on the ground floor of the library. At the far end was the room the Assistants were supposed to use as their office but only the Second Assistant, Collin, particularly liked it. The other three all preferred to find a nook somewhere in the rest of the library to work and with Collin away, Ada knew no one else would pass by them.

Peridan moved to the windows lining one wall, presumably to watch for more imaginary eavesdroppers, while Edmund explained his case to Ada.

"Almost two weeks ago," he began, "an agent of the White Witch appeared in my sister Lucy's bedroom. It was the middle of the night and he no doubt expected to catch her off guard. However, Lu being Lu, she had him subdued and trussed up ready to be carted away even before the guards came rushing to her aid."

"Thank Aslan!" Ada breathed, her face white.

"Yes," Edmund said. "We were perplexed as to how he not only infiltrated Cair Paravel but also managed to make his way to Lucy's chambers without being discovered sooner. After investigating her room, we eventually found a hidden passageway. And here is the mystery; none of our people knew about the existence of this passageway and it does not appear in any of the plans we have."

Ada thought for a moment. "Intriguing," she said. "I trust Witch's crony has said nothing."

"Not a word," Edmund confirmed. "You understand the gravity of the situation, though. The Cair is supposed to be nigh impregnable and yet a would-be-assassin was able to walk undisturbed into a queen's bedroom. We have no idea how many of these passages there are and we have no idea where they are, and this is information we simply cannot afford to be without. So, I have been sent here to search for answers. Can the University of Anvard provide?"

Ada tapped her fingers against her arms as she quickly ran the library's catalogue in her head.

"There are some places we could look," she said eventually, "but I obviously cannot guarantee that the answers you seek are here. I am certain we have some books and papers on the history of the Cair and there are maybe some blueprints somewhere too."

"That sounds like an excellent start," Edmund said. "Lead on."

* * *

 **Thank you to JubileeKnight and JustValiant1717 for your kind words in the first chapter. I hope you have enjoyed this too! If anyone is at all interested by faceclaims, I have updated my profile to include the characters so far introduced and I will continue to update as more appear.  
**

 **For clarity's sake, I consider this fic taking place maybe three years into the Pevensies' reign. By this time, they have either overcome or made peace with the majority of the Witch's followers and Lucy's would-be assassin was a last ditch attempt by those still in hiding.**

 **And now on to a little further explanation!**

 **As I said in the previous chapter, the University of Anvard is heavily inspired by the University of Glasgow. The head of GU is known as the Principal and the post of Rector is one elected by the student body; the current Rector being Aamer Anwar, a prominent human rights lawyer. However, a rector can also be the head of a university and so I chose this title for Ada's uncle's role. (As a side-note, the headmaster or principal of my secondary school was known as the Rector.)**

 **The Bursar is in charge of the financial matters of a university. I am also heavily inspired by Unseen University from Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ novels. As Edmund meets more of Anvard's faculty, I hope anyone familiar with Pratchett will see my inspiration come through. **

**Leave me a review and I will see you in the next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Brother Cenk,_

 _May this message find you in fine health. Three nights ago, we crossed into Archenland and it is thought we shall reach Anvard by the evening of the morrow. The Acolyte is completely insufferable and if not for his supposed protection from our Lord I would have him bent over an altar faster than you could recite the Fifteen Tenets. I loathe to think that this is who our Lord has chosen to lead us. I would never question His wisdom and I pray He is merciful enough to reveal to me why He selected this Acolyte from the hordes of his betters in the Halls of the Living._

 _Our Master grows frailer by the day but his spirit remains strong. I do wish we could have persuaded him to stay in Tashbaan. This damp Northern climate will do nothing for his health._

 _The Southern Archenlanders were rude and unaccommodating; no doubt still embittered by our sparrings over the past century. The Master assures us that the Anvardians are far more welcoming than their yokel cousins._

 _I shall write again when we reach Anvard._

 _Praise to the Dread Lord on High,_

 _Brother Kadir_

* * *

"I'm bored," Peridan moaned. He drew back his hand and set into flight the small glider he had made from spare parchment. It skimmed over the table only to come to an abrupt halt as Ada stabbed her letter opener through it.

"Don't do that," she said, throwing him a dirty look.

"Then give me something to do," he shot back with an equally dirty look.

"I did."

"Something more interesting then."

Edmund sighed and turned a page of the dusty book he was examining. "I'm sensing this squabbling is typical of your relationship?" he asked, scratching the tip of his nose with his quill.

"No, actually," Peridan said, tipping back on his chair. "Miss Speight had definitely found her voice since our last encounter."

"Miss Speight is no longer a probationer afraid to speak up in defence of her workplace," Ada muttered. "That chair is five times older than you, please show it some respect."

Peridan rolled his eyes but set all four legs of the chair back upon the carpet.

"We have been working for some hours now," Edmund said. "Perhaps a small respite is in order?"

Ada closed her book and rubbed her eyes. "Why not?" she admitted. "We could go to one of the refectories for some refreshment. The only one open at this time of year is in the King's Tower in the Eastern Wing but it will be good to stretch our legs. I can tell you some more about the university on the way if you wish."

Her head was turned away from Peridan so she did not see him grow pale and begin to shake his head, fear in his eyes. Edmund watched him with amusement for a moment and then nodded.

"That would be wonderful, wouldn't it, Peridan?" he said, grinning widely.

Peridan sagged but forced a smile on his face as Ada swung an icy gaze upon him.

"Quite," he said with saccharine insincerity.

She raised a brow but pushed back her chair and bade them follow her.

After collecting a few books from one of the upper galleries, she had directed them to one of the private study nooks off the main hall. The library consisted of this main hall surrounded by six towers. The hall was four stories in height, each of the towers were seven, and the network of corridors, mezzanines, and staircases that connected it all seemed like a maze. All Edmund could remember was that they were on the third floor but he was not even certain of that.

However, Ada led them smartly through the twisting corridors and back to the Grand Staircase as if it had been a simple matter of heading along a straight hallway.

"The University was founded in the year 281, exactly one hundred years after King Col began to build Anvard," she said as she led them down the Grand Staircase. "This makes it the eldest such institution in the world; with the University of Tashbaan being founded in 674 and the College of Redhaven in 899. Its Royal Charter was granted after a petition by the Founders in 283 thus giving it the same legal standing as the High Guilds out in the city. The University went through a major remodel during the eighth century where the buildings were torn down and rebuilt to what you see today. This was mainly to accommodate the vast inheritance left to the University by Lord Ansel Feld. Construction began during his lifetime so he could oversee it and he even provided the blueprints himself."

"In the name of the Lion, what could he have left behind that was so important that it required reconstruction?" Edmund asked.

Ada brought them to a halt. They were standing on the small mezzanine where the Grand Staircase arced over the entrance to the Main Hall. The Assistant Librarian looked out over the balustrade to the many shelves and desks of her workplace. A softness came over her features.

"You're looking at it," she said. "Well, part of it."

She smiled for a moment and then continued on down the final flight of stairs back to the foyer.

Outside, she paused for a moment. "There is a rather interesting landmark if you want to visit it. It is slightly out the way of the refectory but I really can't miss it out on a tour," she said.

"Oh, if it is a landmark then certainly!" Edmund exclaimed happily even as Peridan groaned. "Lead on!"

Ada led them through the tangle of cloisters as easily as she led them through the library. Walking behind her, listening as she babbled more facts about the architecture and history of the university, Edmund was reminded of his first few nights at Cair Paravel. Both he and his siblings had repeatedly gone the wrong way and would become disorientated as easily as they blinked. With the sudden appearance of Lucy's would-be assassin, those feelings of disorientation had all come flooding back.

"This is the precise centre of the University," Ada announced, leading them through into a courtyard. "Any new buildings have to be carefully planned so this remains the centre following a decree by the Rector in 719."

Edmund looked around. The courtyard was octagonal shaped. There were only two entrances; an arch to the West which they had come through and another to the East. To the North and the South lay a wall. Edmund bowed his head towards the Northern Wall as he recognised the carving of Aslan etched into the stone. He looked towards the Southern Wall but did not recognise the carving there. It depicted a man with the head of a crane; robed in Calormene garb and cradling scrolls in his arms.

The other four sides of the courtyard were alcoves holding statues. Two noble-faced and bearded men, an older man who looked like every wizard from Edmund's boyhood storybooks, and a woman who looked more noble and fearsome than the other three put together.

"The Founders of the University," Ada explained, noticing Edmund staring. "Reuben Bosworth, Elva Enberg, Marcus Duval, and Asil al-Tash," she said, pointing to each of them.

"Bosworth, eh? Any relation?" Edmund asked Peridan.

He grinned. "Distant cousin."

"Of sorts," Ada added lightly, raising her eyebrows before continuing her lecture. "The University has always had an all-inclusive admission policy to reflect our diverse beginnings. We have always allowed women to study here, at the wishes of Elva, and we are watched over by two patrons; the Great Lion Aslan, and the Divine Talib, Son of Tash and God of Wisdom and the Pursuit of Knowledge in the Calormene Parthenon."

"Reminds me of that old verse they make us all learn," Peridan noted, leaning against one of the columns beside Aslan.

"You mean the verse that literally describes the coat-of-arms," Ada said flatly. "I suppose I should demonstrate for King Edmund's sake, since I doubt you ever bothered to learn it."

She walked to the centre of the courtyard. On the floor lay a mural of a sun with eight rays, each pointing towards one of the features of the walls. She stepped neatly into the centre of the sun which Edmund noted was distinctly more worn than the rest of the floor. He wondered exactly how many students had stood in exactly the same spot as her.

She turned to face Reuben's statue in the north-west alcove and lifted her hand towards it. " _There's the tree that never grew,"_ she said and then turned to the south-west alcove and did the same to Asil's. " _There's the bird that never flew."_

She then turned to Elva in the north-east alcove and said, " _There's the fish that never swam,"_ before turning to Marcus in the south-east and finishing, " _There's the bell that never rang."_

"You then turn to your patron of choice and add the following," she said. She faced the carving of Aslan in the Northern alcove and lovingly said, " _Lord, let Anvard flourish by the Preaching of the Word._ It's tradition for every undergraduate to speak these words if they wish to have a successful academic career. _"_

Edmund looked around again and smiled as he realised each of the statues stood with their backs to their homelands. He knew the Palace and the rest of Anvard stood behind Reuben's shoulders in the north-west, and he recognised Enberg as one of the family names of the Jarls of the Seven Isles behind Elva's north-eastern back. Asil al-Tash sounded entirely like a Calormene name and the presence of a Calormene god confirmed this. And of course, Calormen lay to the south of here and he supposed Asil came from the south-west. Marcus Duval was the only mystery but the young king could remember that Terebinthia lay against the south-east coast of Archenland and so he guessed that was the homeland of the fourth Founder.

"Student superstition," Peridan muttered, folding his arms. "I never did this stupid ritual."

"And remind us which degree classification you received?" Ada asked innocently. "I suppose you walked across the grass in the Quadrangles too?"

Peridan cringed. "Of course not, I'm not stupid," he said. He looked at Edmund with a frown. "Don't walk across the grass; it's terrible bad luck," he said.

Edmund looked between them and noted the sincerity in their eyes. "Right," he said slowly. "Anything else I shouldn't do?"

"Oh, plenty," Ada chirped. She waved them towards the Eastern archway. "But I'll point them all out when we get there. On with the tour!"

* * *

Elsewhere, a party of horsemen had slowly been weaving their way through the foothills and valleys of Southern Archenland. Their destination was the country's capital, Anvard, and they would have been there much sooner if not for the ornate litter being carried behind them.

One of their number, a young man of no more than sixteen, was sitting back in his saddle and gazing happily above him through the rain. It had dogged them since they had left their lodgings this morning and had put a distinct damper on his colleagues' moods.

The man riding beside him gave a great sneeze and dramatically made a great show of wiping his nose.

"Blargh, why could your Task not be in Tashbaan, Mehdi," he snapped. "I feel I have caught my death in this perpetual drizzle."

Mehdi laughed. "How unfortunate, Brother Kadir, that you came all this way to die in such a trivial way!"

The other men laughed too and Kadir flushed hotly.

"You should not speak to me in such a manner, Mehdi. Your acceleration has quite gone to your head," he said darkly.

"Brother," Mehdi replied innocently.

"Pardon?"

"You should refer to me as Brother Mehdi, Brother Kadir. I know I am still a novice and therefore you may outrank me by knowledge and experience but you must show me the respect my, ah, _acceleration_ has afforded me," he said.

Kadir's face turned ugly and his knuckles whitened on his reins.

"I have heard that you were the most outspoken about my Calling," Mehdi continued. "Perhaps because I have heard a nasty little rumour that you fully expected to be called as the Acolyte. What a blow, for he to be revealed as a novice who had not even recited half the Tenets."

A bell rang from the litter behind them and Mehdi glanced over one shoulder.

"Our Master calls," he said. "I take my leave of you."

He reined in his horse until he was level with the litter.

Kadir watched him over one shoulder as he leaned down and listened at the now open window of the litter.

"I only hope he fails his Task," the older man hissed to his colleague beside him. "How could the Dread Lord choose him as the Acolyte?"

"Do not be so vocal, my brother," his colleague advised. "If he complains to the Master, you could be sent back to the Temple in disgrace.

Kadir spat on the ground. "Let him try. He is not the first False Acolyte; my time will come," he said through gritted teeth.

* * *

 **Hohoho, what is going on? Who could this group of men be and what are they doing in Archenland?**

 **Thank you to the Guest in the last chapter for your review!**

 **Real-life inspiration in this chapter comes from Ada's comment about walking across the grass in the Quadrangles; something which is very unlucky at GU.**

 **The other patron of the University is Talib; an OC Calormene God of mine. Lewis stated that the Calormene religion was polytheistic with Tash as the head. A few more of their Gods will appear here and there throughout the fic but Talib and Tash will be the two I mainly deal with.**

 **As ever, leave me a review! I love seeing your feedback!**


	4. Chapter 4

_To Francis Ewart, Dean of the University of Anvard_

 _I must insist you continue to take your tincture, sir. Your manservant sent me a discrete letter to tell me that you had poured the latest dose down your water closet with "a thousand thunderous oaths" as you likened my medicine to manure. This will not stand, sir. If you continue to avoid your recommended doses then more serious treatments must be pursued. This is your final warning._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Dr Coombs_

* * *

"As I said, the Board gets a little over-excited by visiting royalty," Peridan said.

Edmund glanced around. "Could be worse, I suppose," he said.

"Exactly how?"

"My sisters could have organised it," the Narnian King said with a wicked grin.

Peridan chuckled and then surveyed the room again. A hastily-assembled evening had been put together to welcome Edmund to Anvard. It was held in the University's great hall and, despite Lune not attending because "they've already been welcomed to my damned country and I'm not doing it again just so you can feel good about yourself, Titus", there was quite a collection of Anvard's finest. Peridan recognised the Captain of the Watch, the Grand Masters of several of the High Guilds, and other members of the noble families just to mention a few.

"Bosworth!" a voice cried from across the hall and he winced when he recognised his hailer.

"Two minutes," he apologised to Edmund as he left. Edmund, understanding the pressures of courtly life, let him go without a complaint.

Instead, he took the moment alone to observe some of the Anvardian gentry. While Lune had entertained Peter and Susan before, and visited the Cair many a time, this was Edmund's first time in the city. He'd spent much of that time in the university's library already and he could almost feel the Anvardians braced to rush to him to forge their own connections. He studied each of them carefully and wondered who would be the first to break the distance between them.

Then he became aware of a man standing beside him. He too was staring out at the Anvardians but his eyes were unfocused in a way that suggested he was unaware of his surroundings. His clothes, while clean and neat, had a curious pulled-together look as if someone else had dictated how he best wear them. Strangest of all, he was humming. Not a melody nor a ditty but a single continuous note like a buzzing fly.

"It's quite the party," Edmund probed.

The humming stopped in an instant and the stranger's dark eyes flashed to him.

"I suppose," he said gruffly. "I am currently not accustomed to crowds of this volume so you must forgive my lack of sociality, sire."

Edmund found himself slightly perplexed by the man. He found himself desperately wishing for Peridan to return, or even Susan to pop up unannounced. Anything to save him from the impending social mishap he was sensing.

"I find myself at a disadvantage for it is clear you know me and I do not," he said.

"I am but a humble servant of the university," the man hissed. "Fulfilling my duties as _Titus_ bids."

His eyes bulged slightly as he spat the Rector's name. Suddenly his eyes truly focussed on Edmund's; leaving the Narnian King feeling quite like a rabbit in a snare.

"Do you know what I hate the most?" he asked, his nostrils flaring. "What truly sets my blood a-boil?"

Edmund raised his eyebrows and politely sipped from his goblet.

The man leaned in close.

"Students," he hissed, his eyes bulging again. "Students are the very worst."

"Do you not find students necessary to the whole matter of running a university?" Edmund asked.

The man's eyes bulged even further and his nostrils flared again. "Oh no," he said in almost a whisper. "Quite the opposite. The university is at its most harmonious in these summer months when the students are for the most part back home."

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "It is most wonderful," he said, his voice quavering.

Edmund became aware that he was now leaning away from the man as one did when they wanted to be far away from someone horrifying.

"Dean! How are you, old chap? Still on the old tincture?" Peridan asked, appearing magically from nowhere with the most beautiful of timings.

The Dean of Students, and there was no man in such an unfortunate job, turned slowly towards the young noble.

"Bosworth," he said through gritted teeth. "I am well. The tincture helps little but the sawbones insists I must continue to imbibe it."

"Splendid!" Peridan said. "If you do not mind, I would like to borrow his Majesty here."

Before the Dean could object, Peridan had grabbed Edmund by the elbow and guided him away quickly.

"Try to avoid the Dean if you can. He's always been a bit funny in the head but he's been taking a tincture of quicksilver and it has helped even if he thinks it hasn't," Peridan said when they were clear.

Edmund glanced over his shoulder. The Dean was now staring almost directly at the ceiling, his hand errantly swirling his goblet by his side, no doubt humming once more.

"Oh, and the chicken is dry, and there is no caviar. Why is there no caviar, I distinctly remember asking for it," Sir Titus muttered on his way past Edmund and Peridan. "Why do you insist on putting yourself through this, Titus, you know it is no good for your blood pressure- oh, your Majesty! Are you enjoying this evening?"

"Most agreeable, sir," Edmund assured him.

"His Majesty was just commenting how much he enjoyed the chicken," Peridan added, a gleam in his eye.

Sir Titus almost visibly wilted at their light jests but managed a feeble smile.

"Quinten, not now!" he hissed as the Bursar loomed at his elbow, as silently as he had crept upon the Library staff. "Have you met King Edmund yet?"

The Bursar turned to Edmund and inclined his head politely.

"Quinten has the most marvellous stories I have ever heard," the Rector said. "What's that one that never fails to make me laugh? About the squirrel and the nuts?"

He broke down into near-hysterical laughter. Edmund and Peridan, having no idea what this story entailed, had no choice but to wait as he laughed and the Bursar merely stood there as silently as ever. As Sir Titus regained his composure, the Bursar threw him a look.

"No, Quinten, not now!" the Rector insisted. "If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times!"

He walked off and the Bursar followed after him at a glide.

"So you see why our king takes so many holidays to Narnia," Peridan said to a thoroughly perplexed Edmund. "Our social occasions are more about diplomacy and politics than having a fun time – oh, no, let's go this way, that's the Guildmaster of the Goldsmiths and he'll try his hardest to send you home with an order that could bankrupt you – and so everything can pass in something of a whirl. Factor in the eccentricities of our dear University staff and it can be quite exhausting."

"Yes," was all Edmund could say, his mind wandering to dancing fauns and dryads, to sweet wine and bitter berries, to laughing and dancing until the Sun peeked over the horizon. How different the cousins of Archenland and Narnia were.

"If we are lucky, we might see Dame Vance and Curator Varrick square up to each other; that's always fun," Peridan added, bringing them to a halt at one edge of the room so they could once again survey the scene before them.

Suddenly the doors of the hall flew open and the music slid to a halt in a series of musical wheezes as in marched a platoon of fearsome-looking men. They were all dressed in robes that appeared as black as night but showed a depth of colour akin to that of a raven's wing when they moved. Across their torsos wove intricate vests of black leather and wicked-looking scimitars hung at each of their hips. Most frightening of all, their faces were marked by tattoos placed so carefully that their human faces were hidden beneath that of a demonic bird's.

They came to a halt in front of Sir Titus and spread out in a ceremonial fashion. From their centre hobbled one of the oldest men Edmund had ever seen. He did not carry a scimitar; instead around his neck and shoulders hung a strange collar of matted rust-coloured feathers so arranged that they fanned out and around him and made him resemble an angry vulture. Revulsion ran down Edmund's spine as he realised the feathers appeared that way because they were caked in dried blood.

The old man came to a halt in front of Titus and held out an arm. A boy not much older than Edmund, his robes a deep, dark red and his face only marked by a few lines of tattoo, hurried out and took his master's arm. The elder sneered at Titus; daring him to comment.

"Your Dread Eminence," Titus said in a strangled voice. He fell to the floor and prostrated himself on the tiles.

Edmund looked around slowly as the room sunk to its collective knees. He had just noticed Ada, white-faced beside a grim Dame Vance, when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Get down before you draw attention to yourself," Peridan hissed from the floor. Edmund hurriedly knelt.

"Tash acknowledges the welcome shown to His Chosen," the terrible old man said. "Praise to the Dread Lord."

" _Praise,"_ his men behind him intoned.

"You should have sent word ahead that you were arriving, your Dread Eminence," Titus said, sitting back on his haunches.

Anger flashed through the man's black eyes.

"This event is not for our arrival?" he said in a dangerous tone.

Titus's eyes flicked across to Edmund and then he threw himself forward onto the tiles again.

"Of course, Tash forgive my indiscretion against His Chosen," he said, now trembling with fear.

"Tash does not forgive," the man said, "but He recognises your subservience. You may stand."

Titus slowly got to his feet. As the old man turned away, he shut his eyes and took a deep sigh of relief.

"The University is honoured to receive the Isfahsalār and the Ta-er; the Chosen of the Dread Lord Tash," Titus announced to the room.

"Praise to the Dread Lord," the Isfahsalār said.

" _Praise,"_ his men repeated.

"I shall take my leave of you," the Isfahsalār said over his shoulder to Titus. "The road from Tashbaan is a more arduous journey than it was in my youth. My men might stay to endure the festivities if they so wish."

And with that, he limped from the Hall with the help of his red-robed servant.

The other black-robed men did not spread out and enjoy the festivities as they slowly wound up again. They stayed huddled in one corner and glared out at everyone.

"In the name of the Lion, who were they?" Edmund exclaimed.

Peridan looked across the room but they were nowhere near the newcomers.

"Watch yourself, sire," he said in a low voice. "I won't ever be one to tell you to curb your belief in Aslan but those fanatics will pull a sword on you if you are not careful. It's why we all had to kneel when they came in; we don't even have that carry-on for the Tisroc."

"Who are they?" Edmund asked again.

"No doubt you will have received emissaries from Calormen at Cair Paravel?" Peridan said.

"Yes, but none of them have been like this," Edmund said.

"Because they came from the Tisroc no doubt. He may be the emperor of Calormen but these men are the true rulers; the Ta-er. They are the priesthood that serve Tash, the head of the Calormene Parthenon and, when they aren't terrifying everyone into submission, they spend their days either controlling or fighting the Tisroc. The old man in the feathered collar was the Isfahsalār, the High Priest; hand-picked by Tash himself if you are to believe them," the Archenlander explained. He frowned. "I wonder what they are doing in Archenland."

"They are here to review the suitability of the University for Prince Rabadash. Traditionally they oversee the crown prince's education and we are still the best institution in the world," Ada said, stepping up beside them. "The High Priest was wanting some records too, I believe."

"But the Isfahsalār is not supposed to leave the Grand Temple, or even Tashbaan," Peridan said. "He wouldn't come all this way just for some records. One of those guys over there could have collected them for him."

He glanced towards them with a frown.

"This has made things most interesting indeed. I wonder what they are up to," he said.

* * *

 **Thank you to JustValiant1717 for your more-than kind words of your review! I do hope you've found these other chapters just as interesting!**

 **Sir Titus's fit of laughter at the Bursar's story is inspired by one of my own. My flatmate works in a bookshop and outside said-bookshop are quite often buskers, one group of which play the panpipes. A mere mention of the key change in their rendition of " _You Raise Me Up"_ is enough to reduce me to hysterical laughter.**

 **Here is the chapter I have been looking forward to immensely because it finally is the debut of the Ta-er! I chop and change the Narnian Universe as I need it per fic I write but there are a number of characteristics which remain universal no matter what I write. The Ta-er, Tash's priesthood, are one of them! I've actually been developing them since 2013 but since I don't usually write with Calormenes I've never managed to show them before!**

 **Ta-er comes from an Arabic word for bird I found once while researching another fic entirely.  
The title of the High Priest - the ****Isfahsalār - comes from an Arabic rendering of the Persian Ispahsalar. It means Commander-in-Chief or Army General; something I thought far more frightening and appropriate for the Chosen of Tash than just _High Priest._  
**

 **I will say that the Ta-er aren't here because of Edmund's business but there may be a little more to their motives than a trip to the University Library.**

 **As ever, leave me a review and I will see you in the next chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Father,_

 _I am never supposed to think of you. You may be my biological father but our Dread Lord is my true father, my spiritual light, my Lord and Master. I was taken from you at birth so I may only know my Lord. I have a Divine Father, no mother, and many Brothers. This is how it must be._

 _So, why do I think of you? Are you Tarkaan? Are you lowest of the low? Did you love my mother or was it a marriage of convenience? Were you an adulterer sneaking to the Street of Whores?_

 _Are you the Tisroc? (May he live forever.) Is my mother one of your wives?_

 _Have we met? Passed each other on the street without ever knowing? Or are you away in the Deepest Desert with our paths due never to cross again?_

 _Would you be proud of me, if you knew?_

 _Would you be proud that I am the Acolyte?_

* * *

The Isfahsalār stood beside the window of his bedroom and gazed out at Anvard. It had been many years since he had visited the city and he remembered it then as no better than a pig-sty of lecherous and drunken behaviour. Although it did not compare in the slightest to the beauty and grace of Tashbaan, it was now more pleasant and he offered up a silent prayer to Tash for purifying the city and turning the people from their sins.

"Merciful Morning, your Dread Eminence," his Acolyte said as he entered and bowed. He could never remember the boy's name but it was not necessary to remember names when you were the Isfahsalār. He did not even remember the name of that idiot currently masquerading as Tisroc. The Tisroc was supposedly Tash incarnate but it was the Isfahsalār who truly communed with the Dread Lord and carried out His Will.

He turned and slowly crossed to the table set for breakfast; bidding his Acolyte join him with a wave of his hand.

"Are you well-prepared for your Task, my Acolyte?" the Isfahsalār said, picking up his spoon.

"Tash has been merciful and shows me the path I must walk, Master," the boy said. "Praise to the Dread Lord."

"Praise," the Isfahsalār said with a nod.

They were, of course, speaking in High Taluḡa, the language of the Priesthoods of Calormen. Since each of the Ta-er was taken from their families as mere babes and raised in the Grand Temple knowing Tash as their only parent, High Taluḡa was their mother-tongue. They also had to learn Standard Calormene (the language of the court), each of the dialects of the tribes of the Deep Desert, and the Common Tongue spoken throughout the world. Living apart from wider society, honing their practices and gifts for hundreds of years, had slowly molded them into the perfect specimen of human under the leadership and guidance of the greatest lord of all, the Dread Lord Tash.

And the Isfahsalār was the ruler of all; the right-hand and Voice of the Dread Lord to his people.

"Have you visited His Palace again?" he continued.

Of course, they were not talking about anything that had to be concealed but one could never be too careful. There had never been a recorded case of an outsider learning High Taluḡa. Not even the Tisroc and the highest of Tarkaans knew its complex secrets.

A servant of the University, a skinny lad with skin as white as milk (for the Isfahsalār would never allow a woman the honour of waiting upon him), was stoking the fire in the corner.

He was never going to know High Taluḡa but there was always the risk of him understanding Standard Calormene. The Isfahsalār and his Acolyte had Ta-er business to discuss so they would use the language of the Ta-er.

"Yes, Master. At least, I think it is His Palace. It is the same as the first night. I walk down a corridor that twists and turns but never ends," the Acolyte replied miserably. "The only difference is now I no longer find the alcove with the Deserter's lost words."

"That is to be expected," the Isfahsalār assured him with another nod of his wizened head. "It is a sign that you are in the right place and you must now use your intuition to find the next step. Praise to our Lord for showing you these signs."

"Praise," the Acolyte agreed.

"We are to visit the Library this morning to begin the task of searching for the documents I need. You are excused from this and may instead use your time to your own advantage," he said.

"Thank you, Master."

* * *

"Adelaide, stay back a moment."

Ada exchanged a quizzical look with Isaiah and Hans as they walked out and then meekly approached her mistress.

"Um, if this is about the wine that Isaiah knocked over that book of poetry then we are happy to have the cost of a new copy deducted from this month's wages," she stammered but Dame Vance silenced her with a wave of her hand.

"I was young once and forever sneaking my now-husband up to my room," she said. "I'll look the other way this one time. If it happens again, or if it affects our working relationships, or if your ruddy uncle catches you, then I will take action."

Ada's cheeks turned scarlet. "Thank you," she mumbled.

"Good. Now, come stand at my shoulder and try to get some of the redness out of your cheeks," the Librarian said.

As confused as ever, Ada did as she said. Dame Vance fixed her with a critical eye, reached up to tug the collar of her shirt into place, and then turned her attention to refolding her own cuffs and smoothing down her waistcoat.

The door suddenly flew open with no warning and the Ta-er marched in.

"Gentlemen, welcome," Dame Vance said with a terse smile.

One of the priests, a man with a glower etched permanently upon his brow, pulled out the chair Ada usually sat in for the morning meeting and the Isfahsalār settled into it. He no longer wore the collar of bloody feathers, only the black robes also adorning his subordinates, and so Ada wondered if it was merely ceremonial.

"Merciful Morning, Madame," he said. "The Rector said we should seek out the Librarian. I assumed such an honourable position would belong to a man but, alas, there is not a man in your seat."

"Alas," Dame Vance replied with a terse smile. "I am Dorothea Vance, your Dread Eminence, and I am the Librarian. This is my Fourth Assistant, Miss Speight, who I was just discussing a small matter with before your entrance."

"By the Fifteen, this place is awash with women," the glowering priest beside him commented. His Master admonished him sharply in some Calormene tongue and then turned back to the two women.

"What my subordinate means is we in Calormen rarely see women trusted with positions of authority," he said. His black eyes flicked to Dame Vance's wedding band and she quickly covered it by placing her right hand over the left. "Especially married women," he added.

"I find that so strange," she said, "when you so frequently call upon the Divine Azaroth, beloved First Wife of Tash, to bring you victory upon the battlefield."

"We do. But it is not a woman's place to follow the teachings of the Divine Azaroth. She should look to the Divine Ruwa or Zardeenah, for Ruwa teaches wifely submission and Zardeenah holy and pure conduct. Such is a woman's place," the Isfahsalār replied.

Ada noted Dame Vance's knuckles turn white even as her face remained impassive.

"I have assigned my First Assistant, a Mr Hans Dressler, to take care of you within the Library. He is a diligent worker and a gifted scholar, and is fluent in Standard Calormene if you wish to converse in a language other than the Common Tongue. He will be waiting for you in the foyer," she said through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," the Isfahsalār said as one of his men helped him to his feet. "Tash be merciful. Praise to the Dread Lord."

"Praise," his men echoed as they left.

For a brief moment, Ada and Dame Vance were left alone in silence.

Then, the Librarian's mouth twisted. She grabbed a spare piece of parchment in front of her and mangled it until it was completely in shreds.

"Bigots!" she gasped. "Telling me to base my conduct around the Whore and the Maiden Eternal!"

She took a few deep breaths and then laughed to herself. "Thank the Lion that I gave them to Hans because I cannot bear to spend another second in their company!" she snapped. "Thank you for staying with me, Adelaide. I should have warned you about that snake den before I cast you in it."

"It was no problem," Ada said, laying a tentative hand on her mistress's shoulder.

Dame Vance sucked in a great lungful of air and shakily reached for her cup of tea. "You are a good girl, Ada," she said softly, surprising Ada with the use of her shortened name. "Run along and don't keep King Edmund waiting any longer."

* * *

Mehdi wandered through the halls of the Library; his arms clasped neatly behind his back.

He wondered as he wandered; wondered how many books were stored here, how many pages they held, how many words were written upon those pages.

Less than two moons ago he had been insignificant. He was another novice of the Ta-er pledged to spend his mortal life serving his Dread Lord, his features hidden behind his tattoos, and the only thing distinguishing himself from his fellow red-robed novices being his name. Mehdi. _The guided one_ , as old Navid had told him. Navid was the Brother in charge of the Hall of Youth; from the babes brought every year to bolster their ranks to those one Tenet away from advancing to the black robes of the fully-trained priests. He was easily distinguishable from his Brothers by the sash he wore, in the same red as the novice priests, and he knew each of his boys by sight. He was the one who named each of them who passed through their doors and acted as a surrogate mortal parent to them.

And so, naturally, it had been to Navid that Mehdi had turned when the dreams began.

For about a week, Mehdi had the same recurring dream over and over. He was walking down a corridor that twisted and turned but never ended. The walls were made of a brown stone similar to that of the Temple's and the way was lit by a series of flickering torches. Behind one wall he could hear the buzz of voices but he could not make out what they said until, before the final turn, they would cease entirely.

Upon turning that last corner, the corridor would stretch away into darkness. The final torch illuminated an alcove filled with scrolls and books of all kinds and it was to these he would go. It did not matter which of the books he picked up, he would always read the same sentence: _I am Asil al-Tash, sixth Isfahsalār of the Dread Lord, the Deserter of my Calling._ Then from behind he would hear a scuffle, a tremendous roar like that of a lion, and he would awaken.

After the fifth or sixth of these dreams, he had gone to Navid. The old priest had paled and sat forward in his chair.

"This corridor, did you recognise it?" he asked his young charge.

"No, sir. It looked like any corridor in the Temple. If it is here then it is one I've never seen," Mehdi replied. "The only difference I can think of there was no natural light or even any windows. Are there passageways under the Temple?"

"No, child. I do not think you were in the Temple," Navid said slowly. "Follow me."

He led Mehdi through the Temple into a place where the novices were not allowed. Mehdi stayed close behind him, not wanting to be yelled at for being in a prohibited area, and almost crashed into him as he came to an abrupt halt before a pair of intricate doors guarded by a pair of Brothers.

"Our Master is resting, my Brother," one of guards said. "He is not to be disturbed."

"This is important," Navid said, placing a hand on Mehdi's shoulder.

The other guard threw Mehdi an awful look. His name was Kadir and he had a reputation around the Temple as being hot-headed and arrogant. Mehdi knew the first guard too; he was Bassam and he occasionally helped out as an instructor in the novices' Fighting Arts lessons.

"The Isfahsalār is in repose. There is no business a novice can bring that is worthy of disturbing his peace," Kadir said.

Navid's grip tightened on Mehdi's shoulder. "I am a member of the Council and if I say business is important then it is!" he spat. "Our Master will be most displeased if he discovers you have impeded me in this matter!"

Kadir sneered but stood aside.

"Praise to the Dread Lord on this most Blessed Evening!" Navid announced as he entered the room.

" _Praise,"_ Mehdi mumbled behind him. He glanced all about him. The room was near the top of the Temple and therefore most of the city could be seen through the large windows at one end. The walls were covered in bookcases and wall-coverings depicting important moments in the Ta-er's history and the stone floor was covered by carpets woven by the tribes of the Deep Desert. At the far end of the room lay two chairs and in one of them sat the High Priest of Tash himself.

"Blessed Evening, Brother Navid," the Isfahsalār said, laying his book aside. "Why have you brought this novice to me?"

"Master, I believe I have found your Acolyte," Navid said gravely.

It took everything in Mehdi's being to not begin to tremble violently. The Acolyte was the Isfahsalār's apprentice. They were chosen by Tash to become the Isfahsalār after the current one's death. Mehdi simply could not believe that Navid thought it was him. He was just a novice; Tash would never choose him from the multitude of the Ta-er! It was not possible!

The Isfahsalār stood and turned to Mehdi. He gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Hail, Acolyte," he said eventually. "When the sands blow and the wind howls…"

"The dogs bark and the vulture prowls," Mehdi answered and then caught himself. Although it had been his mouth which had uttered those words it had not been he who had spoken them. It was as if another being had momentarily jumped inside to deliver the other half of the words.

The Isfahsalār smiled coldly. "He is come," he said. "Do not be frightened, my Acolyte. Sit with me, for we have much to discuss. _Guards!"_

The two priests who had stood on guard entered with praise and bowed.

"You there, go first to the other Council members, then to the Main Hall, and then to the Palace, and inform all you meet on the way: my Acolyte has been Called! You other one, accompany Brother Navid back to the Hall of Youth to gather the Acolyte's belongings and have them moved to his new quarters. Although he is but a novice, you shall treat him with all the respect you would show Brother Navid or another member of the Council, understood?" the Isfahsalār told them.

They both stared at Mehdi; Bassam with curiosity and Kadir with flat-out hatred. Mehdi attempted to stand a little straighter. One day he would apparently be their Master and he could not appear weak. Tash had abandoned the tenth Isfahsalār for being too weak and he had met a horrific end.

"If you would follow me, my Brother," Bassam said to Navid with a bow. Kadir followed after them with another foul glare to Mehdi.

"Sit, my Acolyte, sit," the Isfahsalār said. "I have awaited your Calling for many years."

Mehdi nervously perched on the chair. He had seen the Isfahsalār from afar during festivals and holy days in the Temple but he had never been this close to him. Instead of looking to the old man, he stared out of the window at the familiar flat roofs and bright pennants of Tashbaan. It was evening; the sky streaked with amber and purple. He had meant to be running errands this evening out in the city. He would have had to have visit the Grand Bazaar and he was going to take some of the money he'd saved up to buy some of the spiced wine from the little old lady beside the gates.

But he'd gone to Navid about these infernal dreams, expecting a quick and easy solution, and his entire future had been swept away and replaced with one he had never envisioned.

"We rule over a fair nation," the Isfahsalār acknowledged, also gazing out into the city. "Do you love it?"

"Of course, Master," Mehdi replied. "In accordance with the Second and Fourth Tenets; Tash showed the first Isfahsalār the way through the Deep Desert to the banks of the river and there bid him build a grand city in his name. Tashbaan and by extension our noble country of Calormen would not exist without His divine generosity and I thank Him for both these and the life he permits me to experience each and every day that I awaken."

He paused. That answer would be more than satisfactory for his tutors but how it would fare with the leader of their priesthood he did not know.

"You are humble; a quality the Dread Lord favours," the Isfahsalār said eventually. "Although you are but a Novice you know your Tenets well; again, He favours knowledge. The Divine Talib may be the God of Wisdom, and I of course speak no ill of our cousin priests that follow Him, but never forget that there would be no Talib without Tash."

"As the Sixth Tenet teaches," Mehdi offered. His Master smiled.

"Good. Now tell me about your dreams."

The young priest momentarily found himself at a loss. Navid had made no mention of the dreams to the Isfahsalār but the old man was looking at him expectantly. So, he recounted the dreams to his Master who listened intently, leant back in his chair, his fingers steepled. He had been the Voice of the Dread Lord for nigh on fifty years and he instantly knew how to interpret the signs Tash had sent to Mehdi.

Every Acolyte had to prove their worth with a Task. The Dread Lord wanted Mehdi to hunt down the lost works of the sixth Isfahsalār, Asil al-Tash, who had infamously abandoned his Calling and left the civilisation of Calormen for some barbaric northern country. So, they had gone where he had, followed the trail he had left all those centuries ago, with a believable cover story so he could complete his Task unimpeded.

And so most prevalent of Mehdi's wonderings during his wanderings was whether it would be so simple as to find them amongst the Library's collection.

He had his doubts that his Dread Lord was not _that_ merciful.

However, as he rounded a corner, he heard something straight from his dream. Muffled voices in the distant; voices that in the dream had become more distinct and recognisable the closer he rode to Anvard. He peeked around a bookcase. Two men and a woman, bent over their work and involved in an intent discussion.

"I pray this is the next step along my path, my Lord," he muttered, preparing himself to greet these strangers.

* * *

 **Apologies for the lack of upload last week. I started back at uni but I'm now into the rhythm of things!**

 **A massive thank you to elecktrum, awilliamsbbc.98, and JustValiant1717 for your lovely words about the previous chapter (Val, in particular, you are far too kind!)**

 **Another reason why this chapter is late is, uh, it rather got away from me. *glances at word count***

 **So, onto the explanations. As I mentioned before; Lewis told us that the Calormene religion was polytheistic with Tash as the head. He gave us the names of two of the goddesses; Azaroth (who we know nothing about beyond her name) and Zardeenah (who we are told is a Goddess of Maidens in _The Horse and His Boy_ ). I have made them wives of Tash, together with another OC goddess called Ruwa who is a goddess of Beauty. **

**I'm also interested in the etymology of names and looking through names for the Ta-er has been fun. For anyone else also interested:**

 **Mehdi - guided one, as mentioned in the chapter  
Asil - noble  
Navid - good news  
Kadir - capable/powerful  
Bassam - smiling**

 **As always, leave me a review and I will see you soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

_They are a strange people. Their King is called '_ Tisroc' _but I think King is not the right word… He is not a King in the same way as Papa is. Maybe Emperor would be a better description? I digress; the Tisroc is their ruler. He is very kind and welcoming but there was a small disagreement at dinner last night, so I felt the need to write to you._

 _I was talking about Aslan and how much joy and guidance He brought our royal ancestors, King Frank and Queen Helen, in the first years of their reign. Why, they sat there with mouths open for they had never heard of Him! This morning, I was taken for a tour of the temples. The patriarch of their deities is named Tash and… oh, Col, I cannot write the atrocities they do in his name. He has an evil servant they call the Isfahsalār and the Tisroc is blind scared of him. I had seen Tash's black-robed servants march about the city but I had not thought to ask who they were; now my heart jumps in fear every time I see one pass in the street below my window._

 _I am certain Calormen will prove a great ally to us in years to come but, for now, I long for the comfort of home and the warmth of Aslan._

Princess Adelaide of Narnia; in a letter to her brother Prince Col during her visit to Calormen at the behest of their father, King Frank V of Narnia

* * *

"Oh, here is something," Ada said, smoothing down the page. " _We were visited by an Archenland nobleman who was very interested in the construction. He had a few excellent suggestions which we shall incorporate if the King agrees._ Maybe this could help?"

"Where's that from?" Edmund asked.

Ada flipped to the front of the slim volume. "It's a translation of the journal of Adalbrik the Builder. He was one of the architects of Cair Paravel," she told Edmund.

Edmund snorted. "I do believe one of Adalbrik's descendants tried to kill me once," he said, remembering the evil servant of the Witch.

"Could he be the source of the leak then? If Adalbrik did include the stranger's suggestions then it is entirely likely that he may have passed them down as a family secret," Peridan said.

"Perhaps. Ginnarbrik was slain on the field of Beruna by my sister's arrow but he was one of the Witch's most trusted servants. He would have told her and her other minions any secrets he knew," he admitted.

There was a creak to his left, towards the main library hall.

"Merciful Morning, friends!" a heavily accented voice said. All three of them turned to see the Ta-er boy in the red robes standing at the mouth of their reading nook. He smiled at them nervously; the few tattoos adorning his cheeks and brow contorting into grins and frowns.

"My name is Mehdi al-Tash, novice of the Ta-er. Might I enquire as to your task?" he asked.

Ada sat up straight. "We're working on a private matter," she said, rather shortly. She glanced at Edmund. "This is in your hands, sire," she said. Her tone was obvious; _I do not have the authority to send this guy packing but you do._

Edmund smiled at Mehdi. Although near every Archenlander had warned him about the Ta-er, he saw no reason to mistrust the novice priest. He knew Aslan would warn him if he was in danger and his heart and mind were at peace. However, some small corner of his mind advised caution. He was not entirely ready to give up his secrets as easily as he had to Peridan and Ada.

"I am King Edmund the Just of Narnia," he said. "I am visiting Archenland to research the history of my home, Cair Paravel."

"How interesting!" Mehdi said. "Perhaps I might join you? Many hands make the load lighter and I have worked many hours in the Temple's Archives with similar materials."

"You are most welcome," Edmund said. He ignored the horrified glance Ada and Peridan threw to each other and cleared a small section of the table in front of one the spare chairs.

The priest sat down and dutifully began to annotate the documents Edmund slid towards him. Despite the mistrusting glances of the Archenlanders, he actually found himself enjoying Mehdi's company. The Calormene was polite and cheerful, despite the surly change in character of Ada and Peridan.

Peridan at least only slumped down in his seat and attacked his work with a renewed vigour. Ada seemed determined to drive Mehdi away despite Edmund's leave for him to join them. However, the stranger pleasantly surprised Edmund with his ability to take all her snide remarks in his stride.

"I don't believe in only one god," Mehdi said patiently after one particularly barbed insult. "As the first Tenet teaches, I believe there are many Gods but Tash is their Father. I am honoured I was chosen to serve Him."

"The Tenets? What are they?" Edmund asked, genuinely intrigued.

"The commands set forth by Tash that explain the world He gave us and His expectations of us as subjects," Mehdi said. He paused, but his companions were clearly allowing him to speak and so he dutifully repeated the Tenets as elegantly as he did in his classrooms in the Temple.

"One. We are ruled by Many and They are ruled by Tash. Two. Tash is the Master of All; of Life, and of Death. Three. He is both Giver and Taker; by His Discretion do we conduct our lives and it is His choice alone as to when we die. Four. He shall send a Chosen Voice to guide us in His ways. This emissary shall be known as the Isfahsalār and he is above all of mortal kind save the Tisroc (may he live forever) who shall be his equal. Five. If one has a good and honest life then there is nothing to fear. Tash is merciful to the meek and the wicked shall receive all they deserve. Six. He is never to be questioned; live one's life in accordance with the Many but always remember Tash is the Master," he recited perfectly, touching his lines of tattoo as he did so.

"And what are the other nine?" Edmund asked.

Mehdi shrugged. "I am but a novice. I have only learned the first six," he said. "You learn one Tenet a year; beginning at age ten. Our faces are made from fifteen lines and you receive one for each Tenet."

That was a lie, strictly speaking. He already knew the final Tenet. Ironically, it was the first one they encountered; at the precious age of six when they were somehow deemed old enough to watch the Temple's rituals. _Fifteen. Tash demands sacrifice to show our devotion. The greatest honour of the common folk is to give their lives for their Lord and His priests shall be the ones to guide them to salvation._ It was a very vague description of the true sacrificial rites. There was a reason why the heretics and unbelievers of Calormen frequently called the priests "Tash's Butchers" and, while they were exposed to the Tenet at a young age, the novices were not allowed to study it until they were ready to become fully-fledged priests.

Ada snorted from her corner. "Taking a year to learn a simple saying, no wonder Tashbaan is so far behind us," she muttered.

Mehdi finally shot her a glare so icy it made the hairs on the back of Edmund's neck stand up. "I happened to take a look in your Calormene Philosophy section this morning and I found it woefully lacking," he said coldly. "It takes a year to learn each Tenet because we must explore every facet and avenue it presents to us until it is firmly interwoven within our very soul. Any fool who can read can learn the Fifteen Tenets – we don't exactly keep them secret – but only the Ta-er _understand_ them. If you wish to expand the library's material I am sure I can think of a few books to include."

Ada, not appreciating the completely unveiled dig towards her university, _hmphed_ to herself and bent a little closer to her book.

Someone else cleared their throat and they looked around to see another priest standing there in his full black.

"Apologies for the intrusion," he said, bowing. "Brother Mehdi, our Master is going to lunch and requests the presence of his Acolyte to wait upon him."

"Thank you, Brother Bassam," Mehdi said, standing. "I bid you farewell, friends. I hope I have been helpful. May you have a blessed day."

He bowed to them and then walked away, striking up a light conversation with his fellow priest in their strange, harsh language.

"That was a peculiar experience," Edmund said, staring after them.

"Mhmm," Peridan agreed. Edmund caught him and Ada exchange yet another glance.

"What now?" he asked irritably. He shut his own book with a thump that made Ada start and throw him an angry look, most likely for treating one of the precious books in such a ham-fisted matter.

Peridan paused and then threw back his head and laughed. "I'm sorry," he chuckled as Edmund glared at him, "but that was the damned Acolyte! I wondered why they had a novice with them!"

Ada slumped forward and rested her head on the table. She too laughed; her current position making it sound oddly muffled. "The other Assistants are not going to believe this. Hans will be hopping mad," she said.

"Who is the Acolyte? That title means nothing to me," Edmund pointed out.

"He's the next High Priest. Tash picked him from all the others to be his next voice, if you believe them."

"So?"

"So you shouldn't let someone so powerful know the ins and outs of your home! The Calormenes are a war-hungry society and the Empire stretches far beyond where any Northerner has ever gone. The current Tisroc is –" Peridan began but Ada coughed.

"They are everywhere," she said in a sing-song voice.

Peridan shrugged and suddenly became much more interested in his book than he had ever been. "I think we should focus on this lead from Adalbrik," he said.

As they began to work again, Edmund found his mind drifting to Mehdi again. He stared down at the notes the boy had made during his time with them. Ada and Peridan, on the other hand, seemed much more relaxed now the Calormene had left them. Edmund was certain that they had not bickered once.

Finally, he needed a break. He made his excuses and set his feet and mind wandering about the university grounds. It was with great surprise that he entered what he thought to be a random garden only to find Mehdi seated alone on a bench.

"Fateful Afternoon, my friend!" the trainee priest said with a smile as he saw him. "Will you join me?"

"Of course," he said as he sat down. "Have you been released from your services for the day?"

"Yes. I was coming to inquire if you needed my help again but I was distracted by the peace of this garden. There are few places in my homeland as green and veritable as even this small corner of Archenland," Mehdi said.

"I think it better you found distraction. My friends think you are the Acolyte of Tash and you are here to spy upon us," Edmund admitted. Mehdi blinked.

"No, it is true, I am the Acolyte," he said. "And it is fair that they are suspicious. There has been much bad blood between our nations. While I was alive during the last war, I was so young that I was barely able to sit up unaided. However, I know Lord Bosworth's grandfather was treated badly at the hands of our soldiers and I know my Brothers were instrumental in encouraging morale and fervour amongst our people and so I do not blame him for doubting me."

He smiled. "As Divine Azaroth, first wife of our Dread Lord, tells us, _trust not he who sits at your table today when yesterday you met him upon the field of battle_."

Edmund thought of all his now-subjects he had once met upon the battlefield. The Black Dwarves had been hesitant at first but, after some careful diplomacy from Peter and Susan, they were now happy to serve their new monarchs. Clearly according to the Calormenes, such loyalty was not considered trustworthy.

Mehdi suddenly laughed to himself. "Yet you are not my former enemy masquerading as a friend," he said slowly. "I sit beside you and my heart and mind are at peace. Might I share my burden with you?"

"But of course," Edmund replied. "Many hands make the load lighter."

The corners of Mehdi's mouth twitched as he recognised the proverb he had quoted but a few hours previous but his brow stayed furrowed with worry. When he began to speak again, his voice trembled.

"You are no doubt here because you are on some noble quest. I wish my own cause was so noble. To many in my homeland, it is the most noble of quests but I am wracked with fear." He looked down at his clasped hands and paused for a moment. "I am the Acolyte, as you know, and I have been selected by our Dread Lord to be the next to lead our people. However, I must first prove that I am indeed the Acolyte and I hear our Lord's Voice as clearly as my Master.

"It never used to be this way. Until, the Tenth Isfahsalār, Yusef, was deceived by the False Acolyte. He stopped listening to Tash and our Lord abandoned him for the True Acolyte who encouraged our brothers to rise up in revolt. Both Yusef and the False Acolyte were executed on the High Altar in the Temple and the True Acolyte was named the Eleventh Isfahsalār. He decreed that every Acolyte after him would be given a task by Tash that they have to complete to prove that they are indeed who they claim to be. I know that I am the True Acolyte and I have already dealt with all the mess of emotions that has given me. What I am so fearful of is I now have to prove to my Brothers that I am the next Chosen Voice… and if I fail I am to be branded a False Acolyte and executed like the other."

"How awful," Edmund said.

"Tash is not a kind god, but He is most merciful and for that I am thankful," Mehdi mumbled. "He has given me two paths for my life; either I become His most trusted servant or I die. I am fortunate, most people only get one."

He raised his hands and touched his forelock; his face scrunched in an intense and passionate prayer. Edmund, not knowing what else to do, raised his eyes skyward and offered his own prayer to Aslan for guidance. It was as clear to him as it was to Mehdi that they had been brought together for a reason and he craved even the slightest understanding of their situation.

They were not the King of Narnia and the Acolyte of Tash or even Edmund and Mehdi. They were merely two young men, very far from the home, fleetingly united in confusion and isolation for the very briefest of moments, and longing for the merest hint of clarity.

* * *

 _I'm sorry it has been too long :)  
_


End file.
